I can't ask her, we barely know each other. the fewer people who are involved the better. if Mystique comes for you or me, I don't want anyone else in the way.
As cryptic as his directions are, Kurt knows a little about the way Logan's mind works. He's on his way home from the party as it is, wandering through the quiet night as it wraps Deerington, when impatience overtakes caution. With a bamf of air and a billow of smoke, he disappears from one place and reappears just outside the front door of the cabin. He could have landed further away to try and hide it from Logan, knowing the older man disapproves of his using his teleportation while it's still a risk, but at close quarters he knows his partner will sniff it out anyway, so he doesn't bother.
As he comes through the cabin he stops at the kitchen cupboards to root out a bottle of whiskey that has somehow gone untouched by the rest of the cabin. With it dangling from one hand, he heads up the newly installed stairs, his steps a little wearier than usual.
The cabin smells faintly of fresh cut cedar, and though the fire smoulders just enough to cut the damp of spring, it's not enough to warm the place too much.. At least not into the upper reaches of second floor where the the earthy smell of the woods is so heavy it seems a window must have been left open.
Instead, there's a whole new window up there. A pair of glass doors tall enough, from floor to ceiling to let the moonlight over the lake pour into bedroom and Logan, with one foot on the floor, rocks himself in a hammock hung from the ceiling joists there in front of those balcony doors.
"If I knew you were gonna 'port home, I'd have come get you in the truck," he says. Despite his chiding, his smile is warm and welcoming as he takes in at the sight of Kurt with that bottle in hand.
"I was impatient," Kurt points out, wandering slowly into the room, "and tired".
In their newly desaturated world, he's almost invisible in even the briefest shadow, and practically disappears in the deepest parts of the dark room. But the moonlight runs a silver edge over his fur as he steps into it, drinking in the sight of Logan in the hammock. He raises his eyebrows, a smile threatening but not quite finding his expression.
"If I'd known you missed my pirate themed Danger Room programs that much I would have dressed for the occasion."
He's not an easy man to bring to all out laugh, but there are specific little sounds of amusement reserved for different people. Like when Kurt takes it upon himself to sass him. The quiet little laugh rumbles in his chest, inspiring him of course, to give as good as he gets. "Was that the first thing you did when you landed here? Made sure your swashbuckling outfit was in order? Whatchu got to drink there smart-ass?"
"Come make sure this thing can hold the both of us."
"Something tells me you've already made sure of that," he points out, but does as he's told. Even with Logan's considerable weight, the hammock is clearly sturdy, and at a comfortable height from the floor; it's not difficult at all for him to climb on, settling for a seat in Logan's lap with one leg either side and his bare feet on the floor. Once comfortable, he uncorks the whiskey, takes a long pull, shudders lightly at the heat blooming in his chest, then offers it to Logan.
"For your information," he continues, "my swashbuckling outfit is always in order."
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text | un: fuzzyelf
text | un: LUCKY
You been into my gin?
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really here
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fuck.
of all the fuckin...
hows that sittin with you?
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we all need to be careful
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no one gets in without passin' the sniff test.
we should... explain a few things to Wes and Grady.
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this is a lot easier when we have psychics around
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Well. There's Jeannie.
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Frankly, the more people know who she is from get go, the less chance she has of pullin' the wool over anyone's eyes.
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I just don't want anyone to get hurt
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That's not your fault, Kurt.
There ain't nothin' about her that's your responsibility.
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You're her son. Not her keeper.
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I know you'd say something similar if we were talking about Daken.
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That's different. She's the parent.
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I need to get drunk. can we do that please?
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Yes. Come here and get sauced with me. I got somethin' for you.
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where is "here"?
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action
As he comes through the cabin he stops at the kitchen cupboards to root out a bottle of whiskey that has somehow gone untouched by the rest of the cabin. With it dangling from one hand, he heads up the newly installed stairs, his steps a little wearier than usual.
"Logan?"
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Instead, there's a whole new window up there. A pair of glass doors tall enough, from floor to ceiling to let the moonlight over the lake pour into bedroom and Logan, with one foot on the floor, rocks himself in a hammock hung from the ceiling joists there in front of those balcony doors.
"If I knew you were gonna 'port home, I'd have come get you in the truck," he says. Despite his chiding, his smile is warm and welcoming as he takes in at the sight of Kurt with that bottle in hand.
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In their newly desaturated world, he's almost invisible in even the briefest shadow, and practically disappears in the deepest parts of the dark room. But the moonlight runs a silver edge over his fur as he steps into it, drinking in the sight of Logan in the hammock. He raises his eyebrows, a smile threatening but not quite finding his expression.
"If I'd known you missed my pirate themed Danger Room programs that much I would have dressed for the occasion."
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"Come make sure this thing can hold the both of us."
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"Something tells me you've already made sure of that," he points out, but does as he's told. Even with Logan's considerable weight, the hammock is clearly sturdy, and at a comfortable height from the floor; it's not difficult at all for him to climb on, settling for a seat in Logan's lap with one leg either side and his bare feet on the floor. Once comfortable, he uncorks the whiskey, takes a long pull, shudders lightly at the heat blooming in his chest, then offers it to Logan.
"For your information," he continues, "my swashbuckling outfit is always in order."
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